Bleach: Drabbles & Ficlets
by lightningmouse
Summary: A collection of character centric Bleach drabbles. Some are longer than others, centering upon characters both primary and secondary.
1. Plans

**Plans**

_Nemu_

Nemu broke the obedience programming he instilled within her upon her creation long ago. The daughter of a genius, made to perfection, cannot help but be anything but a genius herself of course. She knows how fickle and jealous of his knowledge he can be though and has never revealed that his every whim and order is followed only because she chooses to do so.

Because she wants, one day, to be able to tell him that regardless of his control, she always chose him first, from the very start.

She knows what her father's dreams are. She knows the substance and the intangibility of them, the breath and width of his vision. There is a plan to everything he does, everything he creates.

But sometimes, during the quiet moments, Nemu wonders what his plan really was, when he created her.


	2. One step at a time

**One step at a time will get you there**

_Kurosaki Isshin_

When he first met her, it took him a while to realize that his life would change and thereafter never be the same again. A decision made in the surety of love, casting aside one way of life in favour of something new and wonderful, with no regrets ever attached to it. That's what it was like. When he lost her, it all changed again, a new path twisting sideways and dragging him through that he'd never thought would be presented to him. A road to walk without her by his side, not even the ghost of her to keep him company.

It hurt. It hurt in ways that still defy description. He remembers this feeling well, as though it might be yesterday.

Sometimes, he tells himself that it was stupid, not to expect that it might happen one day. He was a shinigami. It's the one thing he should have expected, anticipated and prepared for. It's the one thing he should have know would come, no matter what. Even the way she died was no surprise, once all is said and done.

Sometimes, he reminds himself that he couldn't have anticipated everything. And sometimes... sometimes, he thinks he should have known.

Then again, somehow time stopped when he was with Masaki and he never did take into account that she might die one day. So he holds no grief, no self-blame that she did, now. Not anymore. There's just no use in such a thing.

Look forward. Walk with your head held high. Have no fear.

For all that Masaki is no longer there, Isshin knows he does not walk this road alone. And she would be very cross with him if he let himself sink into despondency and leave things undone.

Because he knew, the first instant he felt his son awaken on borrowed powers, that the road had taken a sharp turn again. But for this, he was prepared. This fickle twist of Fate he'd anticipated since the day his son was born and he first looked upon Ichigo's red, furious face, howls resonating through the hospital indignantly in protest at the entire concept and process of birth was the most lovely sound he'd ever heard, next to Masaki's laughter. And then the girls came, one firmly pummeling the hand he waved over her face as if to warn him not to do anything stupid already and later, the other, smiling as sweetly as anything as he held her, all good cheer and love of life.

He listened to them all, in his own way, and prepared. Stayed in the background and waited. Ready to step in, at the right time, as he always meant to be.

Isshin is nothing if not a man of faith. He believes that his children, that Masaki's children, will do well for themselves. He always has.

He truly believes.

But... well, a little help along the way never hurt, has it?

As they look forward and face life, he can steadily keep falling back to stand just a bit behind them. With each silly act, with every ridiculous face, they move forward a bit more, pay less attention to him and what he is doing.

And so, Isshin can watch their backs as they move ahead.

Until the day they don't need him anymore.

Maybe then, he'll see about finding a way to join Masaki, somehow.

Just maybe.

Of course, if they have children, then all bets are off and he's sure Masaki won't mind waiting for him just a _little_ bit longer. Someone has to stick around to tell all the really embarrassing stories to the grandkids, after all.


	3. Five

**Five**

_Ayasegawa Yumichika_

It's not that he's lazy, really. Being fifth seat suits him just fine and as he explained to Hisagi Shuhei once, the number five is a _beautiful_ number.

It's a _divine_ number.

Even living men know this. It is the number of many of their holy books and found through the multitude of religions and beliefs they possess. It is a prime number which is part and parcel of the most mysterious of mathematics, which symbolizes the completeness of both life and one's soul. There are five oceans down on earth. People are possessed of five senses (though Yumuchika firmly belives precious few actually can lay claim to common sense itself) and they have five basic tastes (sadly, the ability to match colors properly is not one of them).

The Mayans believe they are now living in what they call the Fifth World. Muslims pray to Allah five times a day. Eastern tradition says that there are five elements (water, fire, earth, wood and metal) and humans beings are made of five fundamentals (water, fire, earth, air and spirit). Even those pesky Discordians admit that it is a holy number and follow something they call the Law of Fives (about which Yumichika prefers not to ask, because everyone knows Discordians are a bit – okay, a lot - touched in the head and it's best not to go there _at all_.)

Yumichika knows that perfection can only be attained by taking one's time and so, unlike many of the others he's in no rush to get promoted to a higher rank. In fact, he may just stick to being fifth seat for quite some time, since the other divine number he likes is the number three and Ikkaku already laid dibs on that one and besides, Yumichika wanted the fifth seat all along anyway.

What amuses him the most though is that so far, only eleventh division members haven't even questioned why he's satisfied with being fifth seat, when they know he could be a vice-captain any old day.

Perhaps it's because each of them also seeks a perfection of a kind, in their own way. And throw in a frighteningly fierce _joie de vivre_ into everything they do that it takes his breath away, for it is something which Yumichika has yet to see in any other division. Not with such flamboyance and raw, visceral determination to go out there and just _be_.

Above and beyond everything else, Yumichika, most of all, understands that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

And, well, beating poor unsuspecting Hisagi Shuhei was just plain fun, at that.


	4. A day at the beach

**A day at the beach**

_Kurosaki Family_

With a sigh of aggravation, Karin hunkers her head a bit lower between her shoulders, trying to ignore her father as he makes a fool of himself while buying passes for them all at the booth. Yuzu, on the other hand, chatters away animatedly at both she and Ichigo, the former's usual surliness entirely ignored (it's normal for Karin-chan to look like she swallowed a bucket of lemons anyway, Karin thinks she heard Yuzu mutter uncharitably at one point) and the latter's odd restlessness is glossed over after he's properly remonstrated about it (he's a boy, they can't help being weird is Karin's opinion on that one). Rolling her eyes at Yuzu's apparent lack of need for air as she babbles on, Karin sighs and looks towards the road longingly, wishing she could just head back out towards the train station and back home.

Yuzu's wise to her though and made sure Karin's stash of money had somehow been left at home while they were packing that morning.

The brat.

Gesticulating wildly, Isshin leads his brood down the path to the beach, pausing every few steps to exclaim over one thing or another (Karin hardly paying attention to _what_ though), while generally making a spectacle of himself. And by proxy, his children, two of which keep trying to find ways to slither off to parts unknown while the youngest makes sure to keep both in sight at all times, with the uncanny ability to inflict looks of wounded woe and despair whenever they somehow manage to step out of line.

It's so unfair. Karin heaves another sigh and jams her baseball cap lower than it already is somehow, from long years of practice.

The latest stop actually ends with something cold and unpleasant being shoved in Karin's hand, drawing a yelp from her as she lets go, only to have the cursed thing thrust in her hand again by her father, who caught it before it fell, not even looking at what he was doing while handing something else to Yuzu with loud words and a ridiculously scrunched up face.

At the first taste of her ice cone, Karin holds her breath, slowly looking down at the syrupy red and white confection, the ice glittering back up at her under the sun like a rare jewel encased in paper brown velvet.

Her father is laughing loudly over something only funny to him as she looks over to Yuzu's cone slowly, the orange color both somehow expected and yet a shock at the same time. When she finally sees the purple shade of Ichigo's cone, Karin knows, even though Ichigo apparently had no clue at all (the _idiot_, he's the eldest he should remember already!) and is instead entirely too busy making odd faces at some shinigami who thinks no one can see him making a spectacle of himself on the roof of the nearby ice cone place.

Hair that fire engine red should be against the law, Karin decides on the spot, taking an instant dislike to the loudmouth. What a moron.

Looking back down at her cone, Karin bites her lower lip, before finally looking up at her father. She knows, even before sight offers confirmation of this, that the two cones her father is holding are respectively blue and green.

She is right.

And Karin remembers with a clarity that takes her breath away, how it had been that day. And wonders how it is that every single cone the Kurosaki family now holds are exactly the same as the ones they'd had the last time they'd came to the beach, all those years ago.

When her mother had still been alive. And she and papa had shared two cones, eventually ending up with only one cup in which blue and green swirled together messily, because they'd wanted to try both flavours at the same time.

Karin sniffles quietly and it seems her bother isn't as stupid as she likes to think he is after all, she reflects, as she reaches out for the handkerchief he is discreetly handing her, shielding her from the sight of both her little sister and her father while pointing out something behind them as a further distraction.

Maybe coming to the beach wasn't been such a bad idea after all, she thinks a moment later while she tucks the piece of fabric away in a pocket, cheeks dry once more, eyes a bit overbright.

She picks up a rock, innocently chucking it at the moron shinigami with the loud red hair and the ridiculously tattooed eyebrows, so Ichigo can have something of a break from all the haranguing that's been going on _non-stop_ since they left that morning. It's not like the idiot _knows_ she can see exactly where he is after all and little kids throw stones around all the time anyway.

The grin Ichigo gives her when she turns around to the sound of someone toppling to the ground with a howl of dismay (and a string of swear words that make Karin want to find a bar of soap and shove it down someone's throat!) isn't quite like the ones he used to give their mother, but it's the second best one reserved just for his sisters and it's more than enough to restore something approaching a good mood for Karin.

Yeah. Maybe coming to the beach is even a little bit of a good idea, when all is said and done.

Karin dips the spoon in her strawberry ice cone and follows her family down by the waterside, humming a bit to herself now and then, while pretending not to notice Yuzu's curious looks over the edge of another ice cream cone, nearly as big at her little sister's head.

And then Ichigo gives Yuzu _that_ smile too and soon all three Kurosaki children are busy smiling at each other secretly over their ice cream cones, never noticing the sidelong look of contentment from the suddenly quiet Isshin, or the way he smiles up a bit mistily at blue sky which is the exact same shade as the ice cream cone he's holding in his right hand.


	5. Turnabout

**Title : Turnabout**  
**Characters** : Urahara Kisuke  
**Words** : 466

* * *

Urahara sighed, staring down from his perch up on the top shelf, ignoring the way the ceiling kept trying to shift into a blue sunny sky configuration, as though taunting him as well. He peeked towards the window, noticing that it was indeed a gorgeous day out there, with nary a cloud in sight. The _perfect_ day for a walk outside, to perhaps go and taunt someone or something into a frothing fit. He really wanted to be out there having fun, instead of _stuck_ in here. And it was a bit awkward to stay up there like that, but he figured that if he was going to make a good imitation of a pretzel, he might as well put some heart into it. So he tightened his grip on the top bar of the shelf and hoped that his legs would stay well and truly wrapped around the shelf itself as he meant them to be.

A baleful sound echoed from somewhere near the half opened boxes, followed by nasty clicking sounds and tiny wails of agony. They ended sharply, along with the cracking sound of a plastic casing being pried open and shattered. Small cracking sounds followed along with a hum of contentment.

"Gyah! Quit that! You stupid-"

The hum of happiness shifted once more to hostile hissing, the sound growing louder as a small shape edging out of the shadows to eye him speculatively.

"I'm too big for you, you infernal little-"

He tried waving an arm at it to distract it and hopefully send it scampering elsewhere.

CRUNCH

Apparently, this translated as 'yummy prey here, come and get it' or something.

"ACK! NO!"

Now that it was done with its brethren, the creature decided that taking a shot at the bigger wriggly prey up on the shelf was a worthwhile endeavor. And hey, it meant eating the metal pipes of the shelves first, which was just fine and dandy as far as it was concerned.

In the back of the room, a box lay open with scattered cadavers resting about it, so much prey which had fallen to the creature's predatory ways.

The small sticker on the side had gone unnoticed by Urahara until he'd opened the box. It beamed up at him merrily now and he could have sworn the image upon it was winking at him.

_Carnivorous cell phones. May also have cannibalistic tendencies. Ship direct to Hell._

The shelf started to tilt to the side dangerously and Urahara's eyes popped wide open in dismay, one arm wind-milling about for purchase.

The little cell phone beeped evilly and attacked the shelf with renewed glee, a small buzzsaw sound echoing from it while it chewed away with a passion.

If anyone ever heard about this, he would _never_ live it down.


	6. Addictions

**Addictions**

_Matsumoto, Hitsuyaga_

Oh, sweet blessed god, what had she been _thinking_?

A sinking feeling of horror took firm control of the pit of her stomach and Matsumoto decided that a full out sprint was the only alternative, regardless of the inherent dangers involving her uniform's known lack of tolerance for such things. The distance from the archives to her goal was impressive, but she didn't let that stop her, even though it meant running over someone (or a few someones) at one point. Racing inside the tenth division's main courtyard didn't do much for her mood, though, nor did the reproachful looks the fifth seat gave her as he escorted a shivering young shinigami (new from last week) towards the main gate leading outside.

"Way to go, Matsumoto. Geez, you couldn't more careful after what happened the last time? Poor Sakuno walked in on him like that! Look at her now."

A terrified look greeted Matsumoto's wince. But guilt only served to make her angry and with a glare (which made the shinigami being protectively led away whimper in pure terror) and a strangled sound of rage, Matsumoto rushed for the main offices of the division.

Most particularly, her captain's office. Snapping the sliding door open, chest heaving from the race over from the archives, Matsumoto opened her mouth to speak.

And was cut off before the first word escaped her lips.

"Mine." The statement was accompanied by a feral hiss and a glazed over look of pure unholy glee, the captain of the tenth division baring his teeth in not-at-all-polite warning, one eyebrow twitching madly the entire time. "Can't take it away. Ha!"

Shoulders slumping, she slid the door shut, blocking off the view of her young captain currently sitting on his desk in his office, a frozen lump of coffee on a chopstick being nursed with all the passion that a newly addicted coffee maniac could muster. A hiss resonated from within the office, promising mayhem and chaos any second now. She might as well rest for as long as possible before the caffeine kicked in, she figured, and Hitsuyaga went on the rampage only the young and coffee hyped could manage.

Complete with great big horkin' ice dragon along for the ride. Damn it.

She just _had_ to stop forgetting her coffee in his office.


	7. Fall in the Light

**Title: Fall in the Light**  
**Character**: Kurotshuchi Nemu  
**Words** : 549  
**When** : During the Soul Society Arc.

* * *

The strongest sound she can hear is the blood rushing through her ears mingled to that of her heartbeat, an improbable score composed by a madman and brought to life through his insanity. She can't move, though she can hear the Quincy's words, can feel his repulsion at how her father treats her, how her father speaks to her, a series of emotions underscored by her own father's thoughts and emotions, all of them sharp jagged edges that wound without concern.

But when she pays attention to the Quincy... there is no repulsion directed towards her. No disgust, no horror, no disdain. Not even once throughout the course of the entire fight, does he feel anything towards her but...

...the need to protect.

Light shimmers in the passageway, a bright and intense coruscating energy which warms her skin and scours everything nearby, motes of illuminations dancing lazily past her in the aftermath of a particularly devastating attack. They are so odd these humans, she thinks, slowly, time standing still around her. So very strange. Without even knowing their cause, they find it in ways truer than any she's ever seen. Without even understanding why, they protect and shield.

Just because... they can?

Nemu breathes in and out, the sound shivering through her lips, her lungs, another song that accompanies the chorus of her wounded body. Hesitant footsteps resonate nearby and she realizes that all the howling and screaming of men and weapons is done with, has been done with for several precious seconds now.

The sound of another heartbeat echoes nearby now, a beat underscoring everything else she hears, unsteady and rapid – far too rapid, not unlike her own at the moment, though she knows that will settle soon enough. She is of no import, she tells herself out of long habit. She turns her head slightly and smiles at the Quincy as he approaches her, hesitancy mingling with concern, and in that moment he proves her a liar.

So very frail, those humans are.

And yet, for a moment, her father was frailer still. Without real purpose, without real intent.

Without... heart. A hollow shell, driven by nothing more than the very basest of instincts.

Nemu offers the human boy the antidote she made with gratitude, not a single afterthought following her impulsive gesture. She thanks him for sparing her father, the strange sudden serenity she feels something she's doesn't even know how to name or explain.

She's never felt that way before.

When all is said and done... her father is imperfect.

Kurotshuchi Nemu leans on the wall, staring at the bottle left nearby once the boy has gone, listening to the echoing sound of fading footsteps, of a strengthening heartbeat straining now towards another purpose. Someone else to protect. A cause to defend. A great nameless nothing she's never even dreamt of, until now.

Is this what Shinigami should truly be?

Her father is imperfect.

She smiles, her breathing steadying out, her limbs still numb and unmoving.

Her heart beats regularly and Nemu thinks maybe, just maybe, she isn't so worthless after all. If she strives and strains and finds her own purpose, maybe she can finally find out who she is.

Maybe she can start to comprehend, one day, what her own measure truly might be.


	8. Shadows Within Shadows

**Title: Shadows within Shadows**  
**Characters**: Kurotshuchi Mayuri, Kurotshuchi Nemu  
**Words** : 530  
**When** : After the Soul Society Arc

* * *

The idiots had never made the connection.

Mayuri didn't even bother to hide a smile, lips curving in a maniacal grin of satisfaction and malice as he stalked down the hallway towards the laboratories reserved to Gigai research. People expected him to smile this way, to go through the laboratories as though they and everything and everyone within were merely tools placed there to assist his intellect. His laboratories, with his scientist and the penultimate perfection of his art. All of it, his.

And still, the idiots had never made the connection. As he'd expected.

They would pay for constantly brushing him off like that, he'd promised himself long ago, though he supposed the way they preferred to pretend he didn't exist whenever he was out of their sight certainly made his work easier. His ambitions tangible. His dreams ever that much closer to becoming reality.

He had created the perfect gigai, and no one had ever thought for a moment that he might have known exactly why and for who he was creating it... and how it would be used. Stalking into the room, Mayuri threw his head back and breathed in deeply, death and life proving to be the sweetest aroma of all. As always.

The scientists of the Gigai Research Division clustered about him, fawning and prostrating themselves, quoting lines from reports he already knew by heart and explaining results to him he had anticipated years ago. With a casual swipe of one hand, he speared one of them through the heart, arm unmoving as the suddenly motionless body slid off his hand and fell to the floor in a puddle.

He had made a habit of killing off his scientists randomly ages ago. It ensured no one thought they were indispensable, no one lazed about on their laurels and petty achievements – and that no one survived when they might know too much and reveal information to others Mayuri most emphatically did not want revealed. Mayuri always killed off members of his division randomly. It was habit, murder approved of by those who turned their eyes and ears away, pretended not to see, not to care.

Aizen Sousuke had promised him all the research subjects in the world.

Quite literally so.

Kurotshuchi Mayuri, really, figured he could stand to wait until every single shinigami in creation had been reduced to nothing but a smear of blood, flesh and tears on the ground or if they were lucky, an interesting guinea pig in a jar, before claiming his reward.

----

Following him silently, unnoticed and forgotten as usual, Nemu looked into the dead eyes of the scientist on the floor, and remembered one of the reports she'd intercepted and destroyed before it ever landed on her father's desk. It had been from this one, a question which had led to many interesting implications and possibilities. Which had hinted at things none of the shinigami left behind since Aizen's less than amicable departure suspected.

Except her.

There was still time. Still data to collect and proof to compile.

One day, she would brush off the last chains from her mind and walk out of the shadows.


	9. Strawberries

**Title: Strawberries**  
**Characters**: Kon  
**Words**: 585  
**When:** Unspecified

* * *

Kon stares up at the ceiling and sighs once more, fluffy little chest heaving up and down cutely. He glares (cutely) at his plushy body and then wriggles (cutely) off the desk to flops face first on the ground, pathetically... and cutely so.

There are no words, he thinks, to express how much he hates being stuck in a stuffed animal.

But then again, it's better than being in that pill again. The reminder causes him to push himself up, his current body strutting (cutely) over to the bed, tail waving (cutely) to and fro as he clambers up on the mattress and then towards the closed window, pressing his face flat against it.

He stares outside for a long time, watching the world unfurl at its own rhyme and pace, the ivy framing the window shivering in the wind now and then. A child bearing a lunchbox walks by, the red metal container being swung back and forth gleefully as the mother tugs the smaller version of herself along patiently, shaking her head in amusement and not looking at all as the girl points up in delight at Kon, basking in the sunlight, staring down at her just as frankly as any child would.

He's never hungry, in this body, he realized, watching the girl turn the corner, one small hand waving at him frantically before disappearing out of sight.

He was though, once, while taking care of Ichigo's body. On a whim he snuck down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and curled up in front of the refrigerator, enjoying the coolness drifting from within the cabinet of goodness and brushing up against his feet, tickling him lightly, marveling at the sensation of cold on his skin while giggling softly to himself. The strawberries were something he'd never even dreamt of - small bursts of heaven with each bite was the only way he could even come close to equating the taste and sensation of them in his mind. Even if in reality, heaven isn't a nice place at all for people like him.

He hasn't eaten since, nor will he, he thinks, unless a real body should happen sometime in his future. A body all his own. He doesn't think it likely. The ones orbiting around would be heroes usually end up dying and Kon knows he's been living on borrowed time already. Time bought for him by Ichigo and Rukia. But mostly, by Ichigo.

Because if the carrot headed boy had never taken an interest in him, had never stopped during that one crucial moment to... somehow feel empathy for him, Kon knows that Rukia never would have batted an eye before sending him right back to the hell of that miserable small pill. And then destruction. Permanent and unchanging. Gone.

Kon flops back on the bed. Cutely.

And stares up at the ceiling again, as though every single mystery of life might be explained there, somehow, even though the really important one he thinks he's already figured out.

Kon stares up at the ceiling, knowing that when the day comes, he'll gladly gives what life he has to make sure that Ichico – and his loved ones –can carry on that much longer. Even if they live just for a few seconds more thanks to whatever paltry efforts the modified soul might make, that'll be enough to satisfy him.

Fair's fair, after all.

And besides. Kon's pretty damn sure he can die as cute as can be.


	10. Generations

**Title: Generations**  
**Characters**: Ichigo  
**Words**: 1049  
**When:** After the Soul Society Arc

* * *

This is stupid.

They're just _school kids_ for crying out loud, how did this all end up on their shoulders? Why the hell can't the exalted freakin' shinigami deal with this on their own? Ichigo sighs and stares up into the sky, the silence in the park almost deafening. As it turns out, the best way to get away from the annoying loudmouth shinigami who have invaded his school (his _school_ dammit, the one last place he had where he could at least _pretend_ to be normal) is to not be there.

The teachers are going to start hating him again, Ichigo just knows it. The math teacher's already decided that the new bunch are all his fault somehow, even though Ichigo was doing his best to be in whatever corner of the class those idiots _weren't_ in. It's not his fault Chizuru decided to make a flying tackle for Matsumoto's... his thoughts stop there, on the dot, and decide to head in another direction, because honestly, Matsumoto's... things are scary and huge and did the word scary come up yet?

Looking at the clouds isn't helping, all of a sudden, and Ichigo groans and slaps his forehead and really wishes being a teenager didn't mean hormones so stupid they wanted to ensure the extinction of the species any chance they got. Or not, which suited Ichigo just fine, because he didn't think of Matsumoto that way (hormones notwithstanding) and in fact he didn't think of _anyone_ that way, not even annoying skinny little shinigami girls intent on getting themselves _killed_ so badly that you had to bring the heavens down to their knees to get the point across through to them that _it just wasn't going to happen_.

Yeah, not even those. Nope sir, none of that for Ichigo.

Especially not with that thing inside of him which might lash out and end up killing said non-existing idiot shinigami girl (and when had that all anonymous plural disappeared, one tiny thought considered piping up and then wisely decided to shut up and keep lurking in the background).

Something cackled far too cheerfully inside of him at that, right on cue, both part of him and not and Ichigo let his hand slide from his face as he shifted on the park bench, staring ahead morosely.

_Shut up._

_Make me, Ichigo. Make me._

"Dammit!"

"Now then, is that any way for a young boy skipping school to talk?"

The old woman's voice, mere inches from his ear sends Ichigo up and off the park bench like a scalded cat, limbs flailing wildly for purchase in mid air (nope, no purchase, so sad) and then sprawling to the ground a few feet away, panting wildly.

"GAH! Don't DO that, old woman!"

A light, crinkly sort of laugh greets that, the woman loosing her breath a few seconds later and coughing shallowly before beaming down at him in a grandmotherly way. Ichigo's ire fades before that, the voice within suddenly subsiding into a whipped puppy dog quiet for some reason, though that odd behavior is forgotten instantly as a box is pushed towards him gently.

"Oh, go on. Have a few... you know you want to. Brat."

Ichigo can't help but grin at the old fruit vendor, a fixture in the neighborhood since forever and ever, even as he goes through the formal pattern of refusing until finally accepting as the giver insists, and then flops to the ground to dig in like a gleeful little boy searching through pirate treasure until the most perfect of all pears rests in his hand. There's only a distant quiet now inside and it's a relief, really, especially considering how loud the other's been lately. Ichigo sighs happily, pulling down one sleeve over the palm of his hand to buff the fruit to a gleaming shine – and then glares at it a bit for reminding him of goddamn Ikkaku. A tap on the nose distracts him though and he beams up at the old figure before him, pushing himself up to his feet.

"Heh. Thanks, old woman. And yeah, yeah, I'll go back to class now."

Biting into the sweet fruit, he bows formally to the woman even as he gives her a cheeky, pear shaped grin and then scampers off, his body remembering that it's a teenager (and teenagers do not scamper, for it is not cool at all) only about twenty feet away, the happy and carefree motion turning into a trudge for appearances sake if nothing else.

The old woman watches the boy skulk off to school and smiles to herself quietly. It's obvious he still has so much to learn, just from the way his reiatsu keeps lashing all over the place, reflecting his irritation, shades of black bleeding over the red in a not so behaved echo of the other self he carries within, now meek and quiet after being so sternly told off while Ichigo was busy looking for a pear. But still. There's a lot of hope for that one, yet.

A low grumble of irritation slithers in the back of her mind, a peevish complaint about how the young brats are all so _loud_ these days and don't have the first clue about how to misbehave anyway and maybe they should just head out there and show them a thing or two? The old woman chuckles again, canines perhaps a hint too sharp for a brief moment, a gleam of yellow dancing in the back of her eyes, and then shakes her head with a hint of regret. With a wistful sigh she fondly begins the process of soothing the hollow within herself back to sleep and picks up her boxes, heading towards her store with a low, contented hum.

Let the children play, she thinks. Let them think they are the first, the brightest, the bravest and the newest.

They'll do just fine, when the time comes, she knows.

But still. Watching over them just in case the old guard is ever needed can't _hurt_ now can it? That thought is greeted with a sleepy, happy hiss, the hollow within sweetly falling back into dreams of blood and death.

The promise of a perhaps, a maybe once more, is enough for the two of them, really.


	11. Ideals

**Title: Ideals**  
**Characters**: Renji  
**Words**: 543  
**When:** After the Soul Society Arc

* * *

Even back then, Rukia was the embodiment of something intrinsically _better_. Better than the life they led, than the people around them (including everyone but her, truth be told) and the petty actions they indulged in every day. Not an object of love, despite what some might even think to this day, so much as an object of admiration. An aspiration to something more, something better and bigger.

Even as their friends died one by one, victims of either illness or ill intent, she still shone through somehow. Looking forward, hoping for the best, untainted somehow by the filth and baseness surrounding them. He'd never wanted to truly be a shinigami, up until the moment where he realized that it might be the only, the best way to preserve that innocence which somehow still lingered about her, echoing through her actions and words like a beacon of light in the dark.

That she was adopted into one of the most influential and respected noble families and became Kuchiki Rukia within mere years of their arrival at the academy only served to prove him right. She had the same remoteness they did, the same penchant for long moments of silent and inner reflection (though she did do her best to spoil that particular belief whenever she beaned him on the head for some perceived offense, far too often to his taste.)

And as he lost himself in the anonymity of the students around him, his only standout features being his bright shock of red hair and his uncultured manners, he watched her from afar and made sure not to get in her way. She'd finally taken off, having taken him part of the way to where he stood now – it was only fair to let her earn what was rightfully hers, regardless of what the sullen and envious whispers (often ended with a foot to the back of the head) sometimes murmured in the hallways between classes.

He looks ahead now, over the human world, missing the feel of Zabimaru resting comfortably against his hip, wishing idly that he might have the extra time to work on furthering control over his bankai rather than sit here _thinking_ too much. He has a world to protect – two worlds, even. And a duty to conserve and one day pass along to others, in sacred honour and trust. It never occurs to him that despite his belief that Rukia is somehow _better_ than he is to this very day, nonetheless, the one who is currently a vice-captain is Renji, not Rukia. The one who has achieved bankai on his own through both need and hard work, to the surprise and astonishment of all those watching is Renji, not Rukia. It never even brushes his mind that the one who strove the most and pushed harder, going from a guttersnipe living in one of the worse districts of the Rukongai to a respected and well thought of protector, is Renji.

Not Rukia.

The one who has in fact come much further, both in spirit, body and soul, who has come through the trials and tests set before him with unparalleled grace (and a great deal of swearing colourful enough to peel the paint from the walls)...

...is Renji.


	12. Stronger

**Title: Stronger**  
**Characters**: Inoue Orihime, Zaraki Kenpachi. Incl. Yachiru, Ikkaku, Yumichika & Ishida.  
**Words**: 616  
**When:** During the Soul Society Arc

* * *

"Oi. You're too slow."

Orihime looked up, still leaning on the wall and panting, pretending not to notice the sympathetic look Yumichika was shooting in her direction, nor the way both Ishida and Ikkaku were studying the far wall as though it contained all the secrets of the universe, just waiting to be deciphered by the one who stared at it long and hard enough. She suspected Ishida would claim victory over the thug from general principles, if she ever shared that particular mental image with him. But he'd smirk at Ikkaku until the third seat of the eleventh division broke the Quincy's skull from sheer annoyance, so there was another thought she'd be keeping to herself.

She did a lot of that, lately, she found.

"Aheh!" She smiled, focusing on the here and now trough the gasps for air, inwardly furious with herself for having tired out so quickly. "Sorry." The shield being fractured had drained her more than she'd imagine possible. And then all those healings. She should have been able to hold out, and do better. She really should have. She wasn't strong enough, it seemed. She clenched her teeth and swore to herself that this would change, that somehow she'd become stronger. Soon. Another breath of wonderful, precious air, which she held in for a moment, eyes half closed at the sheer pleasure of being able to breathe - it was even enough, for a brief instant, to overwhelm the shame and self-loathing at being so pathetically weak. "So sorry. I'll be fine, really. Just give me a moment. I'll get stronger." The last was said out loud rather than kept to herself, softly and full of determination, Orihime never realizing what she'd done.

Silence reigned for a moment, heavy and full of impatience, until Yachiru popped up from over Zaraki's shoulder. Her gaze flicked from Zaraki's face to Orihime's, back to Zaraki's - and then slightly lower, eyeing Orihime's generously heaving bosom. And then slowly back to Zaraki, with none of her habitual fondness. Yachiru had never been one to like sharing Zaraki's attention. Not one bit.

Zaraki's gaze shifted to the side suddenly as he felt Yachiru's reiatsu flare irritably, and his lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. Everyone was so busy looking elsewhere that no one noticed it. Save Orihime, who had chanced to resume thinking just then, and had opened her eyes to apologize again.

Her eyes went wide as the looming death god looked back at her just as suddenly as he'd looked away, that slight smile still present. Before she could even blush properly, unsure why, there was nothing but a feeling of weightlessness and a startled squawk from Yachiru was the only thing that allowed Orihime to realize _where_ she was.

"Oh! Oh no! No, I couldn't possibly," she half-laughed, half-stuttered, the audible gasps from both Ikkaku and Yumichika more than enough for her to catch on to exactly _how_ unusual this was, never mind the way she could practically feel Yachiru's burning glare drilling a hole in the side of her head. It was, most definitely, time to play stupid again. "I'd be too heavy, really!"

"Che. Shuddap already and hang on, woman."

And with that, they were off, the cool wind calming her burning cheeks, even as Yachiru's reiatsu was soon overwhelmed by Zaraki's.

It was, she thought faintly, nice and warm, under all the bloodthirstiness. That explained a lot, really. And there was another thought she'd not be sharing with anyone, any time soon. Orihime smiled to herself, secretly, and managed to keep from cheering out loud and demanding that Zaraki go faster.

Barely.

Seconds later, he sped up anyway.


	13. The First Time

**The First Time**

_Kira_

The first time Kira ever had a glimpse of Gin had been during his academy days.

Everyone had been fussing over the visit of two of the Gotei 13 captains, running about like so many chickens with their heads cut off. Kira had smiled indulgently and grumbled in private, deciding that heading for the quiet and peace of the library to get ahead on a few of the more laborious homeworks he knew were coming up was the only course left for him to take, really.

He adore Momo and thought of Renji as a good friend, but he'd strangle the two of them if he had to put up with the overblown excitement anymore than he'd already done the _last_ a captain had come over. Momo in particular had been near intolerable since.

But when in the middle of his studies he realize that someone was _right behind him watchign_, Kira whirled around, sending books and chair flying as he tripped over his own feet to the ground.

He looked up and his breath caught in his throat, leaving Kira dazed and lost, for a brief moment. The man bending over him smiled and offered him a long, graceful hand to help him up, and Kira suddenly decided that maybe there was a reason to Momo's captain obsession after all.


	14. Something Special

**Something Special**

_Yuzu & Kon_

Yuzu repressed a giggle, barely, and tiptoed across the room, careful to hide behind the sofa as she moved along stealthily. Today was cleaning day, which meant she _did_ have the right to go in her big brother's room. It also meant today was play day, though her playmate had no idea at all as to how much she looked forward to this, every single time.

Kon twitched and forced himself to remain unmoving the moment Yuzu had him in her sights - she couldn't know the truth after all, couldn't know that he was far more than just a stuffed lion. Though no, he sighed to himself mentally as she picked him up, more than any of the others here. He was stuck in the middle, half of something that could have been so much more, and instead inanimate and...not _really_ alive.

"Uwaaah!" Yuzu squealed, pouncing on the toy gleefully, bringing him close and hugging him silly. "Postafu! I've been looking for you _everywhere_!" She cooed out the words, delight and joy vibrating in her voice. "I'm so happy!"

Despite everything, Kon found himself smiling, just a bit. Maybe this wasn't so bad, after all.


	15. Balance

**Balance**

_Shuuhei, Yumichika_

Yumichika would prance and preen and glow, always with that extra cheerful smile just for Shuuhei. The vice-captain would scowl and storm off, doing his best to ignore the gleeful titters that followed him, or the delighted squeals about 'how cute he looked when he was pouting'. People pointed and laughed, discreetly or not so discreetly, and Shuuhei endured.

His dignity was in tatters at his feet and he wasn't taking to that too well, truth be told, though he knew he had only himself to blame.

He had no captain to rely upon, having to take care of an entire division on his own. His vice-captain duties now had the addition of a captain's burden, along with trying to keep far too many lost and confused shinigami on their feet, while pretending everything was fine and that he could handle it without any problems, never mind his own feelings of abandonment and betrayal. That he hadn't even been able to live up to his title and had been defeated by the Eleventh Division's fifth seat had been a blow more painful than anyone knew – and that too, he hid away carefully, letting them laugh at his dark moods without any overt reaction or retaliation.

During the day he sliced through the lighter tempered crowds and gatherings of shinigami without a word, always taking the straightest line to his destination, always aware of Yumichika's proximity yet never quite acknowledging it.

During the night, when the memory of his captain's betrayal became too sharp, bile rising in his throat and leaving him retching in the wee hours of the mornings and stealing whatever pretence at sleep he could manage, he gave up on trying to sleep and found refuge in the courtyard of his division. He spent most of the night time hours there, awake and training. Sometimes he meditated, but most often he shadow sparred, trying to push himself further, to become stronger so that he could be what his division needed so very desperately, now more than ever before.

Strong. Steady. Dependable. _There_.

When the not so subtle laughter suddenly stopped, with several shinigami turning up in the bemused Fourth Division's ward that day and even Matsumoto taking care not to embarrass him in any way, Shuuhei never even noticed, so focused was he on achieving his goals no matter what he had to do in the process. The shadows under his eyes grew without his notice, the potions and concoctions given to his officers by the Fourth Division healers showing up in his office swallowed without any realization on his part as to their nature or purpose. He soldiered on because it was needed, and because it was the only thing left for him to do. And he would do that well, he told himself, because he could do no less. And because if he did not, who would?

Slowly, his unit started to pull itself together, in an effort to meet their vice-captain halfway and try to remove the heaviest part of the burden they had become from his shoulders. The gloom about the ninth division started to fade, and after a while, laughter was heard once more. The looks of mildly surprised approval from Shuuhei were soon fiercely sought after, and sometimes at night he discovered that he had people to spar with, though he had to hold back with them far more than he'd ever had to before, for some reason.

His office was redecorated one day, a wall suddenly gifted with a new window, the hallways brightened with color and light. The members of the ninth no longer moped or sulked about, but started to move with new purpose, to train with new dedication. To look to Shuuhei for approval on their progress, for support in their endeavours. Shuuhei himself started to discover paperwork done and neatly stacked on his desk nearly every day, all of it carefully done in a flourishing handwriting he didn't know yet came to appreciate endlessly.

It wasn't until the sixth seat of his division used a very particular move during an evening's sparring session that everything fell into place. With great care and dedication, Shuuhei proceeded to question the poor boy until he finally had to sit on him and twist his arm (literally) to get a confession.

The next day, when Yumichika was ushered into Shuuhei's office, beaming merrily at the petite shinigami who had helped him sneak into the division's enclave, a note awaited him.

Whatever was on the note was enough to send him into a sparkling flutter, his accomplice hugged and twirled about in delight before being kindly ejected for the room, the fifth seat then declaring war upon the division's frightening amounts of paperwork with renewed resolve.

Shuuhei was seen leaving the captains and vice-captains' meeting a good hour earlier that day, later on carrying not one but two bento under his arm, as he returned to his division for an early lunch break.

--

When Shuuhei woke up three days later from a drug induced sleep, he proceeded to quite calmly dress and then strolled out of his division with a purposeful air about him. A while later, he was seen chasing a cheerfully laughing Yumichika across the entirety of the Seireitei, threatening bloody blue murder upon his sorry carcass, until the Eleventh Division's own captain tired of the two shinigami's antics and started to chase _them_ around the Seireitei, promising to lop off _both_ their heads if they didn't stop all the racket _right this instant for fuck's sake_.

Yachiru watched the show from the roof, sharing a bag of popcorn with a snickering Ikkaku, the both of them cheering their captain on without any regard for the safety of those being trampled in the wake of the running men.

Now maybe Yumichika would stop fussing and worrying and go back to being himself, they thought.


	16. Balance: Equilibrium

**Balance – Equilibrium**

_Shuuhei, Yumichika_

The war has been ongoing for years now and grimness has long since settled over the Seireitei, covering it in an atmosphere that is not quite gloom, but rather ironclad determination and steadfastness in the face of odds which are most definitely not in favour of the shinigami.

And yet, Hisagi cannot help but smile – as he has each day for the past few weeks – at the sight of a somewhat bemused Komamura gravely accepting bento from a determined looking young shinigami, who then trots off back to her own division, ignoring the titters from the nearby onlookers with stolid fortitude. This has been going on for not yet long enough for Hisagi to do something about enlightening his fellow captain as to the reasons behind the daily gifts, but long enough for a very lively betting pool to have grown among the ranks of the Seireitei, both seated or not.

Hisagi thinks that the Tousen-of-before would have been amused to hear about this, all those years ago. He also thinks that the Tousen-of-now would not understand, blind both in reality and in morality, though perhaps there is some lingering resentment at his former captain's betrayal which colors his perceptions still.

The strikingly peaceful air about him has drawn more than a few comments in the past months, from people who had been certain he'd never quite recovered from those events, so recent yet at the same time, so long ago now. Hisagi thinks of the notes he found, tucked away on a shelf of his office. Bits of news and stories he'd scribbled down over time, in lieu of saying them to his departed captain directly. Burning them was strangely liberating, he reflects, smiling the same small smile which has hovered on his lips since, save in times of direst battle and death – and yet, almost still present, even then. Yumichika has not remarked upon the smile, but even in the bloodiest of battles, Hisagi has been told that the flamboyant shinigami has been heard humming cheerfully to himself.

Taking a deep breath, Hisagi holds it for a moment, before releasing it slowly. He is alive. And today, most of the shinigami in his division are as well. As are many of those he cares for. And that is a good thing. Few and far between these days, Hisagi knows that Good Things are to be treasured, each and every one of them. The 11th has taken a heavy toll in combat already, however, falling in numbers far greater than any of the other divisions as they rush along to be the first within battle, rush along to defend those of the 4th with a peculiar ferocity many don't quite understand the reasons for yet and which the members of the 4th have yet to enlighten anyone about, even as they return the protection with healing which often leaves them drained and paper-white as they reach for more to take care of. In the end though, out of every division it is the 11th which bears the price this war exacts of them with the best of grace, the brightest of spirits and of course, the most impressive of booze bills.

Hisagi rises to his feet and begins a slow, steady stroll towards what is still called "the den of iniquity" more often than not. The 11th's pink haired vice-captain will enjoy knowing that another bento was delivered to Komamura by his admirer, today, and Yumuchika will feed the rumours so that the betting pool swings further in favour of the outcome Hisagi has bet upon. Furthermore, the entirety of the 11th will be very pleased to hear of the fact that their division mate's gift was again received with all due respect, this not requiring that they go out en masse to deliver a beating to the still clueless Komamura. As such, he knows, they will then likely proceed to yet again volunteer to just knock out the object of her affection and drag him back to her all wrapped up and with a bow on top (on Yumichika's insistence, each time). And this will result in the very determined young shinigami then proceeding to beat them all up as soundly as she can manage it, until they decide to bide their time and wait until their bruises fade (somewhat) before offering to engage in such sordid behaviour once more. Any of which will still result in things going on as normal in the eleventh.

The thought cheers up Hisagi greatly, and he speeds up his pace slightly, pretending not to notice the lightening of mood of those of his own division, as they see him head towards that particular compound.

Ripples flow through the Seireitei, moving from one shinigami to the next, each touching another for reasons known or unknown. The grimness fades and for this day without battle, those that live move forward, looking ahead towards the next moment, the next day.


	17. Empty

**Empty**

_Ishida_

Ishida stares at the bandage that is carefully being wrapped around his hand, ignoring the fuss Ganju is putting up in the other room while his wounds are also being tended to.

"This is for your own safety, Quincy-san," the woman with the kind eyes murmurs quietly. "Please don't try to escape." He looks up into her eyes and wonders if this is what having a mother might have been like, with parties to celebrate his younger years, icing on the cake and all. She smiles gently in return, as though able to read his very thoughts and he looks away.

Neither of them speak of the jagged rawness which inhabits his body, the reiatsu burned clean away from him, leaving a gaping empty hole behind.


	18. Light

**Light**

_Ishida, Urahara_

Urahara does his usual song and dance, pretending to be some idiot shopkeeper, just as usual. Ishida dreams of sneaking into the man's room at night and pressing a pillow to his face.

The man's frightful power lurks under the surface, a reminder to the Quincy of all that he's lost.

Urahara pretends to be nothing more than a silly shopkeeper and keeps a close eye on the boy with the bitter sharp eyes, hoping that he'll see past the lies and the fear, to discover how strong and steady his strength still is, just waiting to be noticed and put to use once more.

He hopes the boy will pick the right side. It would be a shame to have to snuff out so bright a light.


	19. Waiting

**Waiting  
**_Hinamori, Kira_

Kira followed, she knew. He meant well. Maybe he even understood.

Hinamori flitted from shadow to shadow, from hallway to hallway. Always she paced the perimeter of her prison, waiting for Him to come back for her. This was just a test, she knew. A trial meant to make her stronger, to make her ready for when He came back for her, when He decided she was finally ready to join the ranks of his new army.

All she had to do was wait. Patiently. Bide her time. And one day her chance would come.

Hinamori lived in the shadows. Kira understood, as brief as their grasp upon him had been. He followed and watched, and stood ready to do for her what none other could contemplate, should she fail to find her way home.


	20. Tea

**Tea  
**_Byakuya, Renji_

Byakuya glared at the scene before him, deeply aggrieved. Months upon months of training and hard work, and his fukutaichou still proved to be utterly useless when it came to pouring tea without spilling half of it over nearly every available portion of his desk (and sometimes his person, as well, which granted led to more interesting things to do than study tea ceremonies, but _still_).

And now here he was, wasting his time with those thug friends of his in that thug bars of theirs in the thug district they so favored.

Right in the middle of a rowdy bar fight, holding aloft his beer and laying about with merry abandon.

While not spilling a single drop of the cursed malt.

Byakuya was _not_ pleased.


	21. First Impressions

**First Impressions**_  
Yachiru, Aizen_

The first time she met Aizen, Yachiru tried to kill him.

The old man stopped her (while Kenpachi stared, with his stupid eyes blinking in his stupid fat head) and offered her a candy (it would have to do, she supposed) and then gravely handed her back to his 11th division's new captain.

It was really hard for the old man to justify saying no to Kenpachi when he grinned, showing all his teeth in that "you ain't got a leg to stand on and I didn't even chop it off" way and told 'em all that she was his fukutaichou, while the others pried a smiling (liar liar, pants on fire!) Aizen out of the far wall of the captain's meeting hall.

"Feisty little thing, isn't she?" he'd commented, sweetly, dusting himself off.

Yachiru giggled at him nicely and then made a point of trying to kill him at least once a week, after that.

The others all thought it was funny and a game. Kenpachi knew better. When he bothered to ask her why she was doing that, once, she just shrugged and answered, "Reflex."

At which point he rolled his eyes and told her to get better reflexes, since the bastard was still up and walking about.

In retaliation, Yachiru pelted him with apple seeds for weeks.


End file.
